


For This Is War

by thisiswherethefishlives



Category: Dominion (TV), Legion (2010)
Genre: Alex Lannon - an introspection, Background Character Death, Canon Compliant, Coming of Age, M/M, Michael is a strange duck - also a martyr, Pining, sacrificing for the greater good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/thisiswherethefishlives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From discomfort to longing, snippets of Michael's ever-shifting perception of Alex, from birth to revelation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For This Is War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



> For blueteak, who inspired me to examine all of the many things that Alex was to Michael before we ever got the chance to know them.

He's just a child. An infant taking its first breaths and blinking its eyes against the bright and bloody future that lies ahead.

In many ways, Michael can't help but empathize with this mewling bundle of limbs. Much like the babe, he's found himself fatherless. Much like the babe... he feels weak, and new, and far too vulnerable... even as his brother's blood flakes from his skin.

It makes something in Michael's chest ache to behold Alex, clutched as he is to his mother's chest. It leaves him split open and gasping for something he may never have again. All at once he feels the loss of his father, the bereft of his brother, and the perpetually constant ache of missing the Morning Star.

When he turns from the child, it is nothing more than an act of self-preservation.

Selfish and perhaps irrevocably broken, Michael takes to the wind and allows the thermals to lift him ever higher.

He will return.

When he is better.

* * *

 

A solid weight in Michael's arms, the child is still too young to know of its inherent weakness and his potential strength. It is too young to realize that it’s mother is dead on the floor, struck down too early, lying in a puddle of her own viscera.

Covered in its mother's blood the babe has no concept of past, present, or future… no sense of duty, or promise, or pain... but there is something in his crystal-flecked eyes when they lock with Michael's that leaves him wondering for years.

Even in that moment, at such young an age, was it possible for Alex to know?

There's a weight in Michael's chest as he hands the child off to Noma. He couldn't identify the root of it if he tried, wouldn't be able to pin it down to relief or an overwhelming feeling of doom. No, Michael doesn't know why his body vibrates to be close to the child’s tiny form... and as Noma stalks away, he finds that he doesn't care to know.

* * *

 

They never spoke of it, the burden of a long life when surrounded by those so fleeting, but it's only as Michael watches Alex toss a ball towards Jeep that he realizes how wounded Gabriel must have been in the aftermath of the false David's truth.

Certainly he could feel the pain through their bond, and he could read his brother's heart with less effort than it took to understand his own... but Michael had always been removed from Gabriel's grief, forever adjacent to the hurt that had taken root in his very soul.

Jeep's returning throw goes long and wild, arcing beautiful and free against the dying light of evening.

It's a striking sight, bleak in its beauty, but the thing that truly captures Michael's attention is the look of joy on Alex's face despite the knowledge that he will never make the catch. There's a wickedness to the curve of his smile and a magic in his gait that brings Michael back to the time of David and the ever-reaching love that had once grown from Gabriel’s heart.

For the first time, Michael understands a fragment of Gabriel's grief. It's just a moment - a glimmer - and Alex certainly isn't his son, but the idea of losing the boy leaves Michael breathless in a way that few things ever do.

Alex retrieves the ball, bending down to scoop it up before letting it fly once more.

He is beautiful.

* * *

 

Ten years later, Alex is still beautiful in all of his wild grace and passion. That beauty is the only thing that anchors the boy - no, man - to the creature he had been in his childhood.

Gone are the chubby cheeks and the too-long hair that would dance about in the wind. In their stead are chiseled, striking features and a desperate gleam in his eyes that bear an uncanny resemblance to those of Whele's pet lion. Caged. Powerful.

A predator.

Even now, with no knowledge of his true purpose and with every reason to bow his head in deference, Alex manages to defy Michael's expectations. By all rights, life within the V-System should have made him more disciplined - it should have done many things, but here he stands instead, fierce and defiant and lovely.

It is not the first time that Michael has had to discipline Alex for his insubordination, and from the cocky way that the boy/man/child unbuttons his shirt to bare his scarred, beautiful skin to Michael, it is clear that it won't be the last.

The flogger is heavy in Michael's hand.

He raises it up and watches it slice down.

* * *

 

Allowing the updraft to put more distance between them, Michael doesn't dare close his eyes. No, that is the way in which madness lies. Madness and the forever emblazoned image of Alex down on his knees - a supplicant desperate to please, flushed and warm from too much drink.

Soaring ever higher, Michael keeps his eyes open as he fights against the jarringly near-physical memory of strong hands grasping high up on his thighs and hot breath gusting over his pants. For just a moment as the setting sun blinds him, Michael allows himself to remember that single moment of hesitation before he files it away with the rest of his regrets, diving down against the currents until the only thing left in his head is the roar of his descent and the surety that he will pull up in time.

He always does.

Later there will be time to think about the sour-tinged softness of Alex's lips against his wrist, and perhaps someday there will be time to fantasize about what could have been.

For now, Michael rides the wind and does his best to banish the disappointment that had clouded Alex's face when Michael had pulled away.

In a world where father is missing and the best chance of getting him back lies with a foolhardy teenager with a weakness for drink and a penchant for misbehaving, there isn't enough time to learn how to love the Chosen One. Certainly, there isn’t enough time for the Chosen One to learn to love Michael in return without cleaving in half.

There will never be enough time.

* * *

 

In the aftermath of Jeep’s death, Michael does his best to practice restraint and passivity as the tattoos writhe and shiver across Alex’s skin, an ever-present reminder of everything that Michael has lost and everything that Humanity stands to gain. A gift passed from Father to Michael, from Michael to Jeep, and finally from Jeep to Alex. The Chosen One.

There’s a pull in Michael’s heart as the markings sweep over Alex, shifting and stretching in the candlelight, each movement offering an infinitesimal glimpse of Father’s plan. Never before have the markings been so beautiful. Never before has Michael longed to touch, to stare, to taste. His need hits him swiftly and unapologetically, even as Alex confirms that he is unable to decipher any meaning from the tattoo.

Michael wants. He wants desperately. Fervently.

Perhaps, if they manage to survive Gabriel’s forces, he will be able to take of Alex what he has desired for so long. Only then will Michael be able to offer of himself in return. For now, they wait in the eye of the hurricane, biding their time until the impending gale of Gabriel’s will comes pounding at their door.

For now, they wait, for this is war.


End file.
